


Defining Moment

by mickeym



Category: Popslash
Genre: Comfort, Kink, M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-28
Updated: 2002-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The oddest things can define other things for us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defining Moment

Lance laughed and ducked, and splashed water in your direction when you spit the water out on him, and the chorus of laughter from the other guys made the natural clown in you want to take a bow, but it was the flash of heat and understanding from Lance that made things tighten low in your body. He knew. He understood. He didn't condemn you for it; instead, he helped you embrace it.

You didn't like being different; you weren't comfortable with needs that stepped you outside the norm, away from 'natural'. Or what you perceived as natural.

You tried to ignore those needs as much as possible, and most of the time it wasn't a problem. It wasn't something you wanted all the time, anyway. Just once in a while…and working up to acknowledging it often took days anyway, so by the time you were ready to let Lance know, it was like a throbbing ache inside you.

After all of you climbed out of the pool you watched him drink a bottle of water, followed by a diet Coke, and another water, and so on, and shivered.

When you declined going out that night Joey pressed a hand to your forehead and gave you a mock frown, laughing when you swatted his hand away with a muttered, "asshole." He smirked at you.

"Takes one to know one, Kirkpatrick."

"Yeah, whatever, blow me."

Joey eyed you, shot a look at Lance, then shrugged and followed JC and Justin out the door. You were thankful it was that simple.

You were already half-hard, just from anticipation, though mixed with a bit of dread, if you were honest. Lance stroked your back when you threw yourself across his lap, his soft "oof" reminding you he'd been drinking all evening and you hadn't seen him head for the john yet. All for you. Just for you. You shivered again and buried your face against his stomach, muttered softly, "Thank you."

He petted you slowly, hand warm through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. "I keep tellin' you it's okay, man. Someday you might believe me."

"It's weird." Your hand crept up to rub his waist, and you shivered again at the wet sound of him swallowing yet more water. The squirm beneath you told you it would be soon.

"So?"

"The not normal kind of weird."

"Yeah, and there are those who think me wanting to stick my dick up your ass, or having yours up mine, is weird." You bet if you looked, his face would be flushed; Lance could talk a good line, but he still blushed through a lot of it. You found it as endearing as he found it irritating. His fingers edged your shirt up, warm and slightly moist against the expanse of your back. You pressed a kiss to his belly and he laughed softly, a low rumble that sounded like a big cat purring. "Anyway. Chris. Look at me." He gripped your chin lightly, tipped your head back so he could see you. "Weird is subjective, man, and normal is relative. If it works for us…and we're not hurtin' anyone, who should care but us?"

You ducked your head again. "Thought I was supposed to be the older, wiser one."

"You can be the older one. I'll do the wiser part."

"Smart-ass." Just for that, you raised his shirt and bit at his stomach, smiling against pale, smooth skin when he laughed and squirmed again.

"You ready? 'Cos, um. Need to--y'know." You found it vaguely reassuring that he still had trouble _saying _the words. Sometimes his absolute acceptance of things was a little freaky in its own right.

"Never really ready." But you rolled off him and sat up on the side of the bed, reaching for your shirt. Warm hands skimmed down your sides and pulled it upward for you, tossing it aside. You stood and turned, smiled at Lance, touched a finger to his mouth. "You make this easier than I think it should be. All of it."

"What all?" He pulled his own shirt over his head, cheeks tinged with pink. You clicked the lamp closest to you off, reached to push your sweats down. It was easier when the light was dimmer. Not that the bathroom would be, but still.

You rolled your eyes. Like he didn't know. "Oh, gee, maybe for starters the fact that you're like, barely removed from jailbait? That I'm seven years older? That we're both--"

"Kinky freaks?" He gave you a butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth grin and you reminded yourself the sweet, shy, innocent thing was a façade. One you'd seen through almost immediately.

"I was _going_ to say gay--" You whapped him on the head gently, then swayed forward when he grabbed your hand and pulled, his mouth warm and soft against yours when he pressed a kiss to it. "Lance--"

He stroked your hair back from your face, his own serious. "I know. Me, too."

"Mmm." Someday, the words would come easier, and you'd say it. Maybe. When you were both ready.

Strange, that you could ask him to piss on you, but had trouble with 'I love you'. That probably made you even freakier than you already suspected you were.

"Chris." Lance's voice pulled you from your thoughts. Damn, he was already naked; you were still in the process of pushing your sweats off your legs. You kicked out of them and left them where they fell; plenty of time later to pick them up. Lance was practically wiggling in place, one leg slightly in front of the other, like he was trying not to cross them. You looked up and stared, seeing the fire in his eyes. It made them seem to glow even greener. "It's okay."

"Yeah." You didn't move, just looked at Lance. "Um--"

"I know, baby." Your gut clenched; he didn't call you that very often. Hardly ever. Just when you were nervous as hell, because it usually made you smile. You leaned toward him and he took that last step, cupped your cheek with his hand and kissed you, his mouth warm against yours, his tongue sleek and comforting in your mouth, tangling and teasing with yours. It was a sinful pleasure to kiss Lance; you'd realized that from the first moment your lips met his. He put everything into each one, arms twining around your neck, holding you close to him while he explored your mouth or acquiesced to your exploration, tasting cheeks, palate, the hard enamel of his teeth. He was slick and warm and tasted vaguely sticky-sweet, from the sodas he'd been downing.

It was awfully hard for you to remember, when his hands were stroking over your back, your waist, rubbing your chest, tweaking nipples already hard and tingling, that he was still a couple months away from twenty-one yet. Most of the time you didn't want to remember that, anyway.

His hand strayed between your thighs, grasping your cock, stroking lightly, slowly, and shudder after shudder rolled through you, guilt and pleasure and need coalescing inside you into something large and hot. Waves of burning sensation traveled through you and you moaned into the kiss, against the mouth trying to devour you. You pulled back, panting, hips jerking gently in time with his strokes. "Lance--"

"Ready now?"

"Yeah."

"Come on, then." One last gentle kiss, a quick swipe of his tongue across your lips, and he was tugging on your hand, pulling you behind him.

You kissed again in the bathroom, you standing in the tub, taller than him for the extra inches it gave you, and you felt yourself drowning in the sensation of his mouth, his lips, his body pressed tight against yours. You scraped your teeth over his neck, over the long tendons that stood out when he groaned, and he shook in your arms. You moved your hands lower, stroking his chest, pale skin, smooth and warm under your fingertips, then rubbed his belly, pressing gently, then harder, listening to the low, rumbling groan that filled the room. He bit your throat almost viciously, then licked at it, soft sounds vibrating against your skin, filling you with a need that seemed to consume you.

He turned you then, fitting himself against your back, his cock nestled against your ass, plump but not hard; he'd learned it was too difficult to piss fully erect, learned to control himself no matter how excited he was. At least until he was done with this part of it. You rubbed backward, dropping your head back against his shoulder, your breath coming in a shuddery rush when he traced your navel, then stroked your cock once more.

"Now, Chris." It was more a groan than words, and you heard _his_ need in there, felt the gentle curve of his belly, distended with liquid, against you. So easy to drop to your knees then, nervous but ready, wanting this so badly, trembling from the rush of emotions within you.

"Yes."

A whisper. The last words for a while. 'Til he was done. 'Til you were done. You stroked yourself slowly, lightly, then a little faster, waiting, knowing he was right there. You could feel his heat, could feel the flush in your cheeks, the prickle of emotion just at the corners of your eyes, not tears, but something. And then the soft hiss he made, air rushing past his teeth, and the pungent scent that filled the air a split second before liquid heat rushed over you, soft and light, then faster, harder, low sounds of need -- yours? His? -- filling the air around you, slipping in between the sensations raining down on you.

You shuddered when it all gathered inside you and exploded into a million glittering pieces, electricity arcing out from you spine to your groin and everywhere in between, your cock hard in your hand, then pulsing with your release, creamy white liquid gathering on your fingers, landing on the darker porcelain of the tub wall. You groaned, a long, heavy sound full of need, of hunger, of pleasure, of thanks and love, and heard Lance's echo it before the sensations ended, before the liquid heat rolling off you stopped.

You stayed there, hunched over, until the heat of his body touched yours, until you felt his skin pressed against yours as he wrapped himself over your back, hand stretched out to fumble with the taps of the shower. The first time you'd done this, you couldn't let him touch you at all until the water was running, flowing over you. It was marked progress of some sort that you could now.

Then there was liquid warmth of a different sort flowing over you, like a gentle, warm rain, and Lance drew you upward as he stood up, moving so you were directly under the spray, his hands gentle on your back as he smoothed the water over your skin. You shuddered against him, shuddered again when his mouth found yours, licking and sucking gently as he stroked you, rubbed against you, held you. Acknowledged and accepted all the things about you that made you _you_. You leaned into him, arms going around his waist, your mouth opening wider for his kiss, for the connection between the two of you.

"I love you," you said softly, into the warmth of his neck, when he was stroking scented bath gel over your back and shoulders. The words were nearly lost in the sound of the shower, in his skin, in the steam circling around you. He paused once, briefly, then leaned into you, his mouth pressed against your ear.

"I love you, too."

Warmth trickled through you, sending goosebumps in its wake, and you thought this particular need of yours might never bother you quite as much again.

~fin~

 


End file.
